Long Carpeting Poems
Long Carpeting Poems. Below are the most popular long Carpeting by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Carpeting poems by poem length and keyword.
When I see a snowflake close-up,
the real thing, not the hippie kind,
and stare at that branching pattern
it strikes a deep chord in my mind,
and when I see all that snow fall,
carpeting my grassy backyard,
forming that pure, unblemished sheet,
it does stir something in my heart.
Looks like it should be a still-life,
something preserved for all to see,
but I know that’s impossible,
and that such things never can be,
since I have to get firewood,
churn up that snow with my footprints,
and my kids will be out playing,
I could never take that from them,
even the local animals
will go scamper across the white,
the beauty only will exist
in my memories of this sight.
It makes it all seem so tragic,
losing something sublime and serene…
Frost once said, ‘Nothing gold can stay.’
I understand now what he means.
Spring Is Not All
Spring is not all, not just a solution,
neither everlasting nor savior
yet abloom flowers in decoration.
Shimmering Sun on soft behaviour.
Spring is not all, yet calls dynamism .
Spring equinox transcending chilled winter.
In spirit of zeal and enthusiasm
carpeting green Earth radiance enters.
Spring in air to declare cold term closure.
Bare branches to be garbed with foliage.
Spring in ambient presenting pleasure.
Nature's festival in Springs language.
Sudden gust blows dust: Whims of wind whirling.
After all Spring is called the Seasons' king.
02\ 07\ 23
Spring Is Not All
Contest by Michael Faulkner
In depth of woods how autumn dazzles, swirling beauty of ornate décor,
Waltzing with ochre hickory, birch; whirling flaxen moods of sycamore,
Gracing my view upon blazing foothills, where vistas gamboge scroll,
Bedecking maples, swaying rhythms, with fiery red of shimmying knoll.
Zephyrs of west rustle demeanor of black tupelo, fluttering leaves gold,
Glistening burnt orange of sugar maple, revelers in sundown behold,
As remnants of gilded twilight beams, glimmer in purpled afterglow,
Weaving motifs of fall in tapestries idyllic, of blushing eventide aglow.
Autumn’s grandeur glows, as crisp frost gleams, mellowing overcast days,
Where gelid winds shudder trees, foretelling imminent wintry malaise,
Meandering with leaves falling gently; carpeting dyed, chromatic meadows,
As the arena of fall’s resplendent show, shimmers in elongated shadows.
Harvest Moon enamors sights, appealing to fervor of romantic glance,
Enthralled watching dance of stars, attuned to tenor of cosmic expanse,
Gliding over a charming night, wooing souls glued to autumn’s ruby fire,
Flaunting pizazz panoramic~ a farewell of fall-splendor, in cerise attire.
Turning life’s pages of albums, treasured memories rekindle seasons past,
Thankful for the abundance of goodwill~ heavenly blessings destiny cast;
As conversations savor aroma of pumpkin pies; buttery, nutty, apple tarts,
Spending time with family, friends; exchanging missives of kindred hearts.
taking an early walk along the shore
awaiting for the royal entrance of the new day
through His Love Divine---
I hear the whisper of the cold and gentle wind into my ears saying:
the arrival of your majestic prince of the universe has now begun
excitements I feel deep down in my heart
giving a fleeting glimpse at the side of the ocean
there lies the long ranges of mountain-tops
seems as if they hide him from me
giving me suspense on his final exquisite appearance
as the ebbs move gracefully on their way back…
carpeting his path
waves all arise welcoming him with their loveliest prelude
the cold breeze gently wafts the perfumes as peaceful as they could
a scent of the blue ocean-potpourri
filling the air up to the clouds then down to my mood
as my prince finally ascends unto the clear sky
through his radiant rays he sends me right away his glowing smiles
descending his loving touch mellowed by God’s Loving Embraces
from my face creeping down to my whole being
all I feel is his warmth: an assurance that forever He cares
a very wonderful feeling I can’t explain
I close my eyes and raise my gentle face towards his rays
trying to absorb all the blessings and graces he brings
Oh, what a great and wonderful feeling!
keeping still my chin up on high
exposing to him my rosy cheeked face as I close my eyes
then I protrude my lips
As I want to finally feel my Prince Sun’s warmest kiss
a kiss of my Darling Sunshine
a sweet kiss of love
the greatest and eternal love
from up above
Feb. 9, 2013 2.30pm
Note:
I love sunshine! My father gave me a ring when I was still young engraved with words Darling Sunshine because according to him I was born during sunrise. I lost the ring when I was staying in a dormitory as a student.
Sixth Place
Contest: Verse Poems
Judged: 3/12/2013
Sponsor: Poet Nathan A
Third Place
Contest: A Kiss of Sunshine
Judged: 3/25/2013
Sponsor: Poet Gail Angel Doyle
First Place
Contest: In Honor of my Fave Poem
Judged: 4/11/2013
Sponsor: Poet Andrea Dietrich
How spectacular your crisp, cold colors,
Autumn dear, your bright & brilliant hues.
The fruition of success & failure, previous;
Culminated countenance of consequence.
Bold can be those leafy reflections from bud
To crown, the readiness to share the Fall.
It was your choice, Autumn dear, to steer
Toward perfection or depression, in trial.
Do you gather your bundle around your feet
Fretting and frenetic, leaves wet with despair, or
Do your colors gamble about like a wooly lamb,
Reminding the young of a rainbow’s halo?
Do you fear a latter season or let go your shapes
With holy anticipation, excitement at your fingertips?
Slow bustling of the wind, gentle shake of limbs;
Creative hustling, vivacity of freshness let loose.
Lovely your perspicacity and personality, sparkling
With a thick accent; nay, the dampening of dour
Spirits, fretting at losing your springiness, your green.
Wake up! Shake up your dreams! Youths love
Your rain, your jewel carpeting - they walk in
Your footsteps; enhance the next generation
Not with mildness, but with potential, using
Every bit of your wit and wile, your future hope.
Brighten those smiles with every shake of your head;
Even your baldness, crooked and ancient limbs.
Dear Autumn, you leave room for new sow & reap;
For coddled and courageous seed; newborn buds.
Autumn, less is more, more or less; nonsense
We don’t speak; no madness of spectral tongue.
Serendipity as pumpkins dance with flaming eyes,
As grand mas and pas blink back their yesteryears.
Three wholesome cheers for oaks, maples, even
Evergreens; for every tree that participates in life
And death on earth, rebirth, sentience, flirtation.
Live well, this latter season! Be tested! Thrive!
The carpet was worn -
The pattern thin in some places,
But it was a “good” rug,
A real original Oriental.
We had others, too, and a
Silver tea service, slightly tarnished,
(Sterling, of course)
On the mahogany sideboard.
The upholstery on the
Living room chairs
Was a little tired, but
It was good “quality” furniture.
And we were descended from
Someone who came over
To this country on the Mayflower!
Mantras I heard many times
When I was growing up
In a “good” neighborhood
My parents could ill afford.
Mantras offered when I complained
That my friends had new furniture
Or prettier rugs, or, even worse,
Wall to wall carpeting.
No penny loafers for me –
I had a serviceable pair of shoes.
The “new” skirt was handed down
From a neighbor’s daughter.
Store clothes were from sales
And always “practical”.
Only years later did I finally
Realize my mother was making
The best of the hard times
And gave up much for us.
It was her way of trying
To make us proud of ourselves
And our heritage, to make up
For the things she couldn’t give us.
A place I know so well, I could never get lost.
These back roads and highways a thousand times I've crossed.
I walk them in my dreams, sometimes I even fly!
The joy of being home, the sorrow of goodbye.
I could never feel this way about stone! Wooden beams and timbre will never make a home.
It's my Momma and my Daddy, my kin and all my friends…it's the people that I love, I make my home with them.
It's the scent of fresh pine needles carpeting the ground,
The gurgle of the creek out back, I can still hear that sound.
It's the way when I wake up, I know just where I am…if home for you is love, you can always go home again.
Home is grandma's rhubarb pie, though she can't make it anymore. But she gave the recipe to me and now, honey it's yours. Daddy can no longer play and sing the songs we grew up on, but I remember every word and I'm passing them along.
No, I could never feel this way about stone! Wooden beams and timbre will never make a home.
It's my Momma and my Daddy, my kin and all my friends…it's the people that I love, I make my home with them.
It's the scent of fresh pine needles carpeting the ground,
The gurgle of the creek out back, I can still hear that sound.
It's the way when I wake up, I know just where I am…if home for you is love, you can always go home again.
Yea, “Country Roads will take me home to the place I belong”…cause if home for you is love…you can always go home again.
There is a part of me, an obscure mossy part
that is an underlay, a lichen-like carpeting
of scud and muddy surf that some might call earth.
Within that membranous sub-coat
neither devils nor angles live, yet there are creatures
they merge and mingle swapping their miniscule bodies
with each other just to scurry hither and thither
as different aspects of a microcosmic,
yet ever growing awareness.
I think sweet St Francis would have seen through me;
I believe he would have blessed my animalistic sub-existence
while teaching each germy, parasitical, symbiotic
cellular organism of mine how to knit together
the image of God in this filmy mire.
In deep crenelated crimson,
Autumn arrives in regal robes.
Her boisterous blue burgundy
surging with violent carmine.
Autumn arrives in regal robes
carpeting the earth with fractured
parquet of mismatched, misshaped shards-
a luscious ramollescence.
Her boisterous blue burgundy
cape blusters with bolstered boldness
as she whips the wind to climax
and She reigns as queen for the day.
Surging with violent carmine,
capped rivers rage with Her breath
and rains fall relentlessly as
She settles in for the long night.
*Retourne format: four quatrains, eight syllables each line, written with a tumbling refrain. The lines of the first stanza provide an opening refrain for the ensuing stanzas. xABC Axxx Bxxx Cxxx. Unrhymed.
He's an elder now so don't dare forget.
He has special needs and they need to be met..
Always been a hot boy so keep the thermostat down,
or he'll gulp too much water and in urine you'll drown..
Never was a barker but now lets you know.
Better pay attention or he'll just let it flow..
The laminated flooring makes his joints ouch and
his old bones can no longer reach the soft couch.
He needs carpeting or bedding to lie down and slouch..
Those short walks are great but his back legs go out.
Make sure it's flat surfaces with no hills to mount..
A breakfast and a dinner, let his nose lead the way,
and this 120 pd dog is happy and sleeps the rest of his day.